Grey
by Spinning Furret
Summary: Harry Grey, formerly Harry Potter. Currently living in Victorian Britain. Owner of the Greymort line of umbrellas, hats, and scarves. And of course, his primary and preferred job - that of the detective. And unfortunately for both him and for Ciel Phantomhive, things have become much more complicated when interference from Above and Below appear.
1. Chapter 1

When he was about 32, Harry discovered that he had a magical form of cancer due to horrible luck. He found it to very unfair despite himself: he'd beaten Voldemort, he'd hunted dark wizards, he'd wrangled the Ministry into putting new standards in place for house elf treatment and tried to eliminate the blood bias to the best of his ability, and more, and yet he'd still gotten magicancer.

* * *

><p>"I think I may have thought of something." Harry said, walking with Hermione through one of the magical parks that the Ministry'd set up for children to exercise magic freely. Harry grinned and span his umbrella around. "With magic."<p>

Hermione snorted, aiming a brief mock-glare at him. "Have you?"

"Yes." Harry said, returning to walking. "You probably won't like it, though."

"Spit it out." Hermione said with a note of impatience.

Harry nodded. "I've been looking at some old books. I've given it a long and hard consideration, and I've decided that the best method would be to time travel. Dimensional travel, as well, to another universe."

Hermione stopped, trying to control her temper and her still-extant instinct to begin shouting at Harry. "And why would that work?" She said, her voice dry.

"Firstly, it would strip away any form of illnesses. That's a proven fact that the Ministry discovered with Time-Turners when someone with dragon pox used one to go back a week into the past in hopes of curing himself. He found that he was cured and had to wait until time caught up. He then tried to stop himself from going back in time. It created a horrible paradox, but the Department of Mysteries sorted it out in the end." Harry explained.

"And why can't you just do that?"

Harry collected his thoughts. "Because the Ministry felt that the idea had potential, so they did a few experiments. Unfortunately it only seems to work for common, easily-curable illnesses, and Time-Turners can only travel 2 weeks into the past. Something to do with temporal energies."

Hermione nodded, that made sense. "So what about dimensional travel?"

Harry sighed, looking up at the sky. "I'm still the famous Harry Potter. It's faded a bit, but it's still there. I'm practically a young Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was heralded as a young Haletrim, and he was her-" he stopped, as he was getting off track. "The point is that I don't want people to treat me that."

"Move to America." Hermione replied unflappably.

"After what happened with the Ocean of Words incident?" Harry glared. "No. Temporal and dimensional travel... maybe I'd find someplace that was... I don't know... friendlier. I've never felt like I truly belonged in the magical world. With its eighteenth-century policies, its blood-based racism, the fact that it's so stagnant... It's difficult to explain."

"If that's your choice..." Hermione trailed. "Then I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Harry's eyes lit up. He had not expected that response.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, he arrived on an alternative Earth, he had become a 13-year old. His belongings that he had taken with him - wand, invisibility cloak - still functioned as normal, if perhaps weaker in the case of the wand. His money had aged and changed to match the time period - Victorian-era Britain. And it had not adopted the metric system, it used the same system as the U.S.<p>

With some skill, Harry was able to carve a life out for himself, purchasing a small manor along the lines of Malfoy Manor - a two-story stone building, very grand and eloquent, making its presence known yet still understated - using the money he had was good enough to quiet most people.

He turned to the only venue of work he'd be any good at, that of the detective. Using whatever connections he could wrangle out - a friend in the government, an undertaker, the manager of a funeral home, a doctor, a shop-keeper, even some noblemen. He took the name of Harry Grey.

His appearance had changed as well: his hair had changed to be both black and white, with the black looking a little like a wig poorly placed on top of his white hair, which was an interesting visual effect. He had adopted a signature form of dressing - a suit, colored in deep purple, over a dark green shirt. Dark blue plants. A pocket watch inset with an emerald, and rather than a cane many nobles preferred, an umbrella. "An exceedingly useful object." Harry would often say when people asked just why an umbrella.

Additionally to that, a dark blue scarf, about 7 feet long. In truth it was his transfigured Invisibility Cloak, usefully disguised, and able to turn back to the Cloak if Harry needed it to, without even using a wand.

Since money from being a detective and what he'd had coming could not sustain him forever, he'd started a business - scarves, umbrellas, and hats. The brand was known as Graymort.

Although, perhaps calling it a manor was inaccurate. In some ways it wasn't large enough. It perhaps didn't have enough land surrounding it.

Then again, technically he wasn't a member of the aristocracy. Well, it didn't particularly matter to Harry.

* * *

><p>Harry sighed contently in his manor. Many thought it was too small for someone who was pretty much a noble, in appearance and manner if not in actual status. He was always being invited to various parties, but he declined every time. For that, he had some enemies who had, rather pettily in Harry's opinion, felt rather snubbed by his rejection of the invitation.<p>

He had, eventually, had to hire servants, though he referred to them as retainers. Emory Fox, who did gardening, Leif Mercer, the chef, Anton Smythe, who managed most of the business for Graymort, Eryx Clover whom took care of the animals and was his coachman, and the eventual Greene Morgan, whom was the butler. The position of maid was filled by Fallie Read.

On the whole, he rather enjoyed his life in Victorian-era Britain. He was able to confuse people quite easily with such quotes as "From my vantage point, your vantage point had already happened," and other mystifying quotes. And as a detective he was quite effective - Scotland Yard was eternally irritated with him, and yet when they were stumped, they were forced to call him in. It amused Harry quite a lot.

Two years he'd been here, turning 14, then 15, and he couldn't say that he felt particularly out of place.

A knock came at his door, interrupting his train of thought. He had been reading a book. He placed a bookmark in it and set it down on the table next to his bed. He hopped off, grabbing the umbrella he always carried with him. "Enter." Harry called.

The door opened. It was Greene. "You have a new case." Greene said, walking in and placing a file on his desk.

Greene was dressed with usual decor - dark blue overlaid on white, and black pants. Harry nodded, taking a seat behind his desk and picking up the file and opening it, reading what there was.

A string of mysterious disappearances near, around, and in the mansion of a family called the Faljoys. At present time, there were a number of guests currently there - a friend of the family, an Earl Phantomhive and his butler, and a business man named Trevor Moon. Harry placed the file back on the desk and thought about it. "Where'd we get it from?"

Greene grinned, knowing that when Harry expressed curiosity about something that the case was as good as solved. "This particular request comes from the heirs of one Norman Ashby, one of the men whom has disappeared. They wish to have the case solved so no one else suffers."

"And not vengeance or anything?" Harry pressed.

"I'd not venture to know that." Greene responded. "There is additional business..." He muttered, knowing that Harry would ignore it.

Harry looked up at the roof, thinking for a moment. Suddenly, he got out of his chair, tapping his umbrella on the floor. "We will depart for the Faljoy House immediately."

"As you command. Myself and Clover will prepare a coach within the hour." Greene bowed and left. Harry got up, as well, to inform his retainers of his imminent departure.

It did not take long to gather them, thankfully, Anton not included as he managed things from outside the Manor. "I will be departing soon."

"You have a new case?" Leif asked, figuring it out almost immediately. "Quite so." Harry confirmed. "A string of disappearances in, near, and around the Mansion of the Faljoy family - you haven't heard of them, undoubtedly, until today, neither had I. I will thusly be investigating."

"Best of luck, my lord." Emory informed him, as respectful as always despite Harry's insistence that he not call him lord. "When will you return?"

"I am not sure. Within the week, preferably." Harry replied. "In the meantime, do not neglect the upkeep of the Manor. If you'd excuse me." Harry headed back up the stairs to the second floor to get dressed out of his day clothing that he wore in the Manor to the usual clothing that marked him as well as the fedora, as he felt that top hats did not suit him well.

Soon enough, it was time to depart.

* * *

><p>Harry climbed into the coach and they departed. "How long will it take to arrive?" Harry asked.<p>

"Not long, I think. Perhaps four hours at the speed we're going." Greene responded. Harry scowled and popped his head out of the door. "Speed up, Mr. Clover!" Harry called and shut the door as there was the crack of a whip and the coach moved quicker.

Harry stared at Greene expectantly. Greene only shrugged. "It was a mere estimate." Harry rolled his eyes, staring out the window. "What might you guess to be the cause of the disappearances?"

"I am unsure. Perhaps an unusually skilled criminal." Greene responded. "Hmm." Harry hummed, thinking. "I only read the first page of information. What appearance did the corpses have?"

"That of a drained and terrified one. And as far as I know, none of the victims were workaholics. It is an interesting conundrum." Greene said, mildly bemused by Harry's seeming frustration. "Additionally, there have been about 13 victims so far."

Harry remained silent, thinking. "Any evidence of a criminal? Fingerprints, blood marks, signs of a struggle?"

"Nothing." Greene responded.

Harry nodded. No signs of any criminal activity, which meant that they were dealing with an unusually skilled criminal, intelligent enough to leave no marks of his or her killings. "Poison?"

"No. The only injury was a small cut, about three inches in length, horizontally, and four inches deep, roughly. They were discovered upon dawn, as the murder took place in the dead of the night." Greene informed him. "Generally very close to that range."

"Very precise..." Harry murmured. A cut on the neck, no poison, no evidence of any criminal activity, and a drained appearance. That did not add up. Perhaps it wasn't human... he knew, of course, that there were Grim Reapers, demons, angels, and an assortment of other creatures from Above and Below due to his possession of the Elder Wand and the Cloak (he had not brought the Stone for obvious reasons). Perhaps a Grim Reaper in conjunction with a demon. That seemed to work in with both the precision, the lack of evidence for criminal activity, and the drained appearance.

* * *

><p>The coach pulled up at the entrance to the Faljoy Mansion. Someone had seen them coming, as someone was already there to greet them, most likely a retainer for the Faljoy Mansion.<p>

Harry exited the coach, looking around. There was a scattering of large houses - or small mansions, if you preferred that interpretation - around the Faljoy Mansion, which was by far the largest of them all. Greene got out after him, closing the carriage door.

Harry headed up the stairs to the Mansion, a large set of steps with a roof above. The Faljoys certainly didn't skimp on making their mansion look as good as they could get it to since they couldn't afford a manor, by Harry's guess. "Might I ask who you are?" The butler asked.

Harry doffed his hat. "My name is Harry Gray, detective of sorts. I am here to investigate the recent disappearances."

"Second one this week." The butler muttered to himself. "I do not have a choice on allowing your entry, do I?"

"I'm afraid not." Harry said cheerfully, oblivious to the butler's unhappiness, heading past him and opening the unlocked door.

"I apologize for my master's behavior." Greene informed the flabbergasted butler. "Despite all appearances, I am of the opinion that he knows exactly what he is doing." With those words, Greene entered the Mansion as well.

"No, they certainly did not skimp." Harry observed, looking around the manor. It was, indeed, plushly decorated to make it appear as though it was a manor in miniature.

There were, however, some unusual design choices. There was not a staircase to the second floor but instead a ladder, which Harry imagined to cause a great deal of irritation and potential injuries.

The Faljoy's butler entered behind them, shutting and locking the door. "I shall inform my lord Faljoys, and guests, of your arrival, and prepare rooms."

Harry gave a brief nod of acknowledgement to the butler, still looking around. "And this is the keystone of the murders. You'd never guess by the appearance."

Nevertheless, there did indeed seem to be an atmosphere of bleakness around him, and it wasn't welcoming. He was becoming ever more convinced that it was a Grim Reaper and a demon working in conjunction with each other.

"Whoever it may be, it is not the butler. I am certain of that." Greene told Harry, whom nodded back. "Yes, I feel the same. I dare guess that our rooms will be on the first floor." Harry grinned, having used a passive mental pass on the butler to find that out. A very subtle form of Legilimency. Had he been in the wizarding world, one that wasn't entirely legal. Here, though, there was no Ministry of Magic.

"We shall solve the murders quite soon, I think." Harry declared. "You may wish to gather our luggage, such as it is, for the rooms."

"At once." Greene responded, not bothering to bow since Harry wasn't paying him attention anyway.

* * *

><p>On the word of a very intelligent reviewer whom knows a lot more about the Victorian era than me, I am revising the story.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry was able to settle in quite well and begin gathering information.

For example, the heiress of the Faljoys had fallen ill. And they had adopted a seven-year-old boy just four months before Harry's arrival. And just about two weeks after was when the disappearances had started.

Later that day, two of the visitors - the friend of the family and the businessman - departed from the mansion. This left just Harry, Greene, and technically Eryx Clover, as well as the Earl Phantomhive and his butler.

It had taken some time for Harry to meet the Lady Faljoy, but when he did, it was in the sitting room of the second floor.

"My Lady Faljoy." Harry bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I apologize for my sudden arrival. I am Harry Grey, detective."

"It is good to meet you as well, Mr. Grey." Lady Faljoy responded. "I can presume you are here about-"

"Quite so, madam, your intuitive skills are excellent." Harry said jovially. "I shan't think I'll stay for long."

"Hmm." The Lady Faljoy hummed to herself. "Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Grey." She said abruptly, heading back to the room of the heiress. Harry nodded and had a seat on one of the chairs, Greene taking a place behind him. "An ill heiress. Incredible precision. A recently adopted seven-year-old. No evidence of a crime." Harry bent forward, thinking. "These are all connected, of that I am sure."

"I agree, if only because I know of your skills as a detective." Greene responded. "Your confidence in me is inspiring." Harry said dryly. "And the arrival of Earl Phantomhive simply isn't a coincidence if the rumors I've heard are true. Queen's Watchdog, I hear them say." Harry snorted. "Speak of the devil." Harry looked up to see the aforementioned Earl coming through the door, accompanied by his butler.

"Who are you?" The Earl asked upon seeing him.

"I have introduced myself twice already today." Harry sighed. "I am Harry Grey. It is a pleasure to meet such an esteemed member of the aristocracy as yourself." Harry said, looking at the rather short twelve-year-old in front of him, with the navy blue hair, the extremely fine clothing, and the red-eyed black-haired butler standing beside him. And, unsurprisingly, the Phantomhive boy was wearing a Greymort hat. "I am a private detective, researching the recent string of murders on request of the heirs of one Norman Ashby."

"Your services will be unnecessary. I have already taken up the case for myself on the order of the Queen." Phantomhive informed him.

"So the rumors are true." Harry said, briefly glancing at Greene. He turned back to the Lord Phantomhive, doffing his hat. "That you may be, but I would be singularly incompetent if I couldn't solve this case. I have never failed to solve a case, and I shall not let this one become the first."

Earl Phantomhive narrowed his eyes. "If that is the game you wish to play."

"Everyone calls everything a game..." Harry muttered to himself. Game of politics, game of crime, game of thrones, game of justice and so on and so forth. "You have not yet introduced yourselves." Harry said.

"Ciel Phantomhive, Earl of Phantomhive. My butler, Sebastian." Ciel said stiffly. "A pleasure, I'm sure." Harry said jovially, ignoring Ciel's dislike of him. Harry sat back on the chair.

"I already have my suspicions as to who - or rather what - is responsible for the murders." Harry smiled to himself. "I suspect that this case will be adequately resolved within the week, I should think."

Harry got back up suddenly. "Come, Greene, I believe you mentioned that there was other business you wished to speak to me about earlier."

"Quite so." Greene stood up, following Harry out of the room.

* * *

><p>Ciel narrowed his eyes as Grey and his butler left the room. It seems he had a competitor for this case. He was determined not to lose. "Sebastian, what do you know about him?"<p>

"He is a detective, often working with Scotland Yard when they are stumped, otherwise, only taking up cases which interest him. Very little is actually known about him. He only came to relevance two years ago, but he very quickly rose up from an unknown to a successful detective. He additionally owns the Greymort line of scarves, hats, and umbrellas." Sebastian answered with typical knowledge.

Ciel narrowed his eyes. "Greymort? That company we keep trying to purchase?"

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian responded.

"And he is not a member of the aristocracy?"

"Despite all appearances, no, he is not."

* * *

><p>"Anton contacted me regarding Greymort's profitability. Sales have went down, and he would like your input." Greene explained. "And the Funtom company has sent another offer to purchase."<p>

Harry scowled. "How many times do we have to tell those people that no, they may not purchase it?"

"They are persistent. And they are run by Earl Phantomhive." Greene said, bemused.

"I might have to have a word with him. So, profitability forecasts have been lowered again, and sales are down." Harry considered for a moment. "I have been considering a new idea for the research department."

"Oh?" Greene asked.

Harry grinned. "A mechanical umbrella. A switch near the handle, perhaps hidden under a door or slot, when flicked upwards, it would open the umbrella-" Harry mimed flicking a switch on his umbrella and, with a touch of magic, made it open. "Then, flicked downwards, it would close again." Harry mimed that motion as well, and the umbrella snapped shut.

Greene considered that for a moment. "I will make sure I relay that to Anton. I do wonder how you made the umbrella open and close."

"A magician never reveals his secrets." Harry grinned.

* * *

><p>Two hours past midnight in the Faljoy Mansion. Everybody was sleeping. There wasn't any stirring.<p>

Outside the Mansion, however, someone was not sleeping. He was making something of a racket. This noise did, in fact, wake someone up.

The internals of the Faljoy Mansion, down the hall on the right from the doorway, then make a left. The room of Harry Grey, three doors down to the right. It was in this room that Harry heard the noise and woke up very suddenly.

He frowned, picking up his umbrella, putting on a hat, and getting on an Inverness coat over his sleeping clothes. He opened the door, looking around. No one else had woken up. He closed the door, heading up the hallway and taking a right.

Nothing. He continued, reaching the entryway and the windows near it. Nothing outside that would create such a noise. He looked around the dark room, thinking. He reached for his wand before remembering that he'd modified it, making the umbrella the wand if anything.

He lifted up the umbrella-wand and whispered "Lumos." A low light appeared at the top of the umbrella, enough to let him see better but not to bother anyone sleeping.

He headed up the ladder to the second floor, umbrella handing on one of the loops of his coat. Once he reached the floor, he pulled the umbrella back out, holding it in front of him. He walked slowly, carefully, to not wake anyone.

He reached the sitting room. Empty. "Nox." Harry whispered, placing the umbrella back into a loop, and heading through silently.

He proceeded down the next ladder. Of course it would be the backyard. Harry flicked his wrist and the door opened quietly, allowing Harry to step outside. The door closed behind him as Harry walked down the steps.

He reached the ground, turning back to the house. With a wave of the umbrella, Harry cast a silencing charm over the entire house so that the noises wouldn't disturb anyone. He turned back around to the wooded plot of land. The noise was coming from somewhere around his right. He headed in that direction.

It was a seven-year-old throwing rocks at the walls and the trees. "Hello?" Harry called tentatively. It was the same 7-year-old that the Faljoys had recently adopted. "What do you want?" The boy asked harshly.

"To know why you're making so much noise. You woke me up." Harry said flatly, sitting down. "Something the matter?"

The boy sighed. "I couldn't sleep. I kept seeing... things." He sat down, staring into space. "Horrible things. Death, and blood, and creatures demonic and horrid..."

Harry tentatively reached a little bit of magic out. The boy was... touched. He was different from anyone else, almost magic, but not quite. How could he help the boy? Remove it? Could that even work? He tried it out, plying a little bit away. It was absorbed into his own magic.

Harry tentatively reached a little bit of magic out. The boy's soul had a leech on it - it was not often that Harry had seen them. He'd never seen anything quite like it, but it reminded him of when a Dementor, trying to perform a Kiss, doing it half-way, but not quite succeeding.

It had nearly happened to Sirius. Such occurrences had been studied by the Department of Mysteries, and eventually a method was developed of removal. It did, however, require a highly trained wizard. Harry was one such wizard.

"I can remove it." Harry said, smiling to the boy. "Can you?" The boy's eyes widened hopefully. "Yes." Harry stood up and bent down in front of him. "Concentrate on what you want me to get rid of. All of the things you've seen, all that you've heard, all that you felt, focus on it."

The boy's lower lip trembled. "It hurts."

"I know." Harry said solemnly. "Focus." Harry said again, lifting up his hands and placing on the boy's head, both of them closing their eyes. "You will possibly feel something not quite usual. That is me, reaching out to remove it. Do not resist it." The boy nodded.

Harry's magic carefully reached out, siphoning the leech slowly, to ensure that no damage actually happened to the soul. How it had got there, Harry didn't know (but he would be fascinated to learn how) and in any case it was successfully removed.

Harry let go of the boy's head, eyes still closed, seeing what the boy had seen. They were brief glimpses, of the grim reaper and the demon - his suspicions were confirmed - murdering the various people. It didn't trouble Harry too much, given what he'd seen, but he could understand how it'd terrify a seven-year-old child.

He opened his eyes, realizing that he was laying down. He sat up. "Better?" Harry asked the child.

He nodded. "It's... like they're still here, but not really! I - they're there, but they're not here." He said cheerfully.

Harry grinned. "I've muted the memory so that you can sleep easier. When you get older, and can handle it better, the memories will most likely make their presence known again, but by then it probably won't matter." Harry reached over and ruffled the boy's hair. That was the easy to accept explanation. In truth Harry had set a memory block on it, set to slowly erode as the boy grew older. "What's your name?"

"Arlen Faljoy." He responded with a proud grin.

Harry stood up, looking around and yawning. Arlen yawned as well. "Tired?" Harry asked. Arlen nodded. "I'll fix that." Harry said, placing a finger to the boy's forehead. There was a brief moment of stillness before the boy fell asleep. Harry reached behind him before he fell, picking him up. "I do hope that your room isn't on the second floor." Harry muttered, heading back towards the house, door opening as he ascended the stairs, and closing behind him as he entered.

Once Arlen was delivered back to his bed - thankfully on the first floor - Harry went back to sleep, knocking himself out in much the same as he did to Arlen. He was bound to wake up with a light headache as a result, but he'd rather not manually go back to sleep.

* * *

><p>Harry woke up early that morning. He suspected that the next murder would be either this day or the next, and he intended to figure out exactly where it was. To that end, he enchanted a number of small stones to detect the presence of anyone from Above, Below, or Between, and alert Harry when that did happen. He then sent them off in various directions. If there was a murder, he would know about it.<p>

He dressed himself for the day, knowing that Greene was most likely still asleep in the servant's quarters, and headed towards the dining room. Everyone was eating there, with the exception of Earl Phantomhive and a few members of the Faljoy family.

"It is good to see you awake so early. There are many who sleep in." The Lady Faljoy greeted him

Harry nodded. "Indeed, my lady."

They sat in silence, eating the food. Slowly, the other members of the Faljoy family filed into the room to eat. The last was Arlen, who kept grinning at Harry, whom winked at him and placed a finger to his mouth upon seeing him. Arlen nodded, but still couldn't keep himself from grinning at Harry.

"Arlen seems to have taken a shine to you, Mr. Grey." The Lady said, noticing.

Harry shrugged, a small smile on his face. "I couldn't imagine why." Arlen giggled, hearing it.

Eventually, the Lord Phantomhive arrived, looking as distinctly cheerless as ever. How he could've acquired such a sullenness Harry didn't know, and he wasn't going to pry. He had more to worry about then some unhappy lordling.

The remainder of the breakfast was quiet beyond some mild, mindlessly pleasant chattering between them all. Greene woke up as well, but he dined with the servants.

Upon the completion of breakfast, Harry discussed the development with Greene in his room.

"So, that boy-" Greene began, but was cut off by Harry. "He has a name, and it is Arlen." "Arlen," Greene corrected himself, "and he was having visions of the murders. And you removed whatever it was that causing it and quieted the memories, letting them sleep in the back of his mind."

"Yes." Harry said impatiently. "There's no need to go over it all again. My suspicions are confirmed and we will be heading out to observe the places where the murders took place at the soonest possible opportunity, by which I mean now."

Greene raised an eyebrow. "This soon."

"Do as I command you." Harry said curtly. "Bring a magnifying glass, a journal, and a pen. The chaps at Scotland Yard whom were investigating - yes, I was listening, not sleeping on the ride here - may not have found anything but I just might."

Greene bowed. "I will do so at once."

* * *

><p>After the unexpectedly good reception of an idea I accidentally posted, I felt the need to continue this, seeing as it's probably my best-written fanfiction to date. I hope you enjoy. Additionally, upon the very good advice and knowledge of a reviewer with much more knowledge on the Victorian era then I, I have revised the chapter.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and Greene departed for the location of the first murder, that of Mr. Robert Ghail, a minor salesman in the nearest city that had the poor fortune to also be used as a venue for illegal drugs. In exchange for Ghail's silence, he often received an amount of money.

According to his family, Mr. Robert Ghail was a minor salesman in the nearest city that often received a gift of money from his employer, clueless as to the fact that illegal drugs were being funneled through the shop. Mr. Ghail was also a rather absent-minded man.

Harry was inclined to believe Mr. Ghail's family after a quick Legilimency scan. After a quick introduction, Harry was taken up to the second floor of the small house, which did, in contrast to the Faljoy Mansion, have a proper set of stairs. Harry entered the mostly-untouched room that Mr. Ghail had slept in.

"Day?" Harry asked, looking around the room, notebook in one hand and pen in the other. "March the 3rd. A Thursday." Greene responded immediately. Harry made a note, pocketing the notebook and pen and looking around. Almost immediately he noticed something. "Nobody's noticed this? Who's been investigating?" Harry asked suddenly.

"I do not think anyone has. Might I ask for an explanation?" Greene said.

"Look at this blanket for example. There is a cut here-" Harry pointed to a particular place towards the end of the bed itself, "and there are a number of other small cuts and scrapes and loose threads."

"Did you perhaps consider the possibility that it is a shabby blanket?" Greene asked, remaining as polite as ever.

Harry glared at Greene. He touched one of the cuts. "No, it is too recent. At least this one was." Harry moved to the window, looking at it closely. "Unlocked." Harry said as though it was some great pronouncement.

"I believe Mr. Ghail often had his window open because he enjoyed the fresh air." Greene responded.

Harry narrowed his eyes. Always some quirk to Mr. Ghail, or some completely reasonable possibility. Sherlock Holmes never faced that sort of difficulty, Harry was sure, it would break the narrative.

And no matter magic's abilities, it couldn't pinpoint whether a window was unlocked on a specific day at a specific time three months before June. Which was unfortunate.

"Hmm." Harry muttered, the window, opening it and taking a look outside. Aha - one possibility. He got up onto the windowsill on his knees, peering out ever farther.

"Master-"

"Shut up, Greene." Harry replied instantly, getting back down and extending his umbrella. One of the many useful functions Harry had built into it. He removed the rib of the umbrella - the shielding against rain. He then took out a handle, attaching it to the end and the ferrule of the umbrella.

Harry got back onto the sill, standing up and slowly climbing down, grasping the handle at the end so that he might use the hook at the other end to hang on to it.

He placed his feet gently on the wall, looking at either sides of it closely. Just barely visible, only when the light hit it a certain way, was a finger print. He pulled a magnifying glass out of his pocket, looking at it closely. It didn't have the normal lines that human fingerprints did. The lines were much more bent and linear, in straight lines and angles, rather than the curves and bending lines of a human fingerprint.

It was the distinctive mark of a demon.

"A demon indeed." Harry said with a satisfied grin. That was further confirmation of his suspicions beyond the visions Arlen had. Now the Grim Reaper half... why would a demon and a Grim Reaper be working together? That was something that Harry was interested in finding out.

Harry climbed back up into the house. Greene was staring, waiting for him.

"A fingerprint. Of demonic origin, nonetheless." Harry explained immediately. "There is nothing more to be learned here. We shall return to the Faljoys for a brief respite, perhaps some tea, and then head to the house of the next victim.

* * *

><p>Harry took his tea outside in the backyard, at one of the tables with chairs. It wasn't custom in the Victorian era, as far as Harry knew, but there the tables were anyway. Whom was Harry to argue with history.<p>

He was enjoying tea with Arlen, whom had decided to enjoy some tea with him. "Where were you?" Arlen demanded of Harry immediately.

"Investigating." Harry said simply.

"Yes, but what?" Arlen asked impatiently.

"Stuff." Harry winked.

Arlen frowned at him. "Don't be obtuse!"

"Very good usage of the word, appropriate and effective." Harry praised Arlen, ruffling his hair. It was good to encourage a wide scope of lexical ability in Harry's opinion. "If you must know, I was looking at the room of the first man."

"Ah." Arlen quieted. "You'll be leaving soon, won't you?"

"Most likely." Harry acknowledged, as there was no point in lying. Harry sipped his tea.

"You'll visit, though, won't you? Promise?" Arlen asked, eyes widening.

"I'll visit. Promise." Harry agreed. Arlen grinned at that and went back into the house, probably to play with some toys, which left the tea there, cup half-full.

Harry relaxed, enjoying the tea. The day was quite sunny, which was a pleasant change from the normal clouds that so ordinarily dominated the skies of Britian. The door reopened, someone stepped outwards, and the door closed.

The person was Sebastian, the Earl Phantomhive's butler, red-eyed, pale-skinned, and black-haired, dressed in the only clothes Harry had ever seen him in. He suspected that the butler had fifteen other pairs of clothes exactly like that. "I trust your visit was fruitful?" Sebastian asked politely, sitting down on the chair opposite Harry.

"Yes. More than I might've expected." Harry said pleasantly.

* * *

><p>"Yes. More than I might've expected." Grey said in response to his question.<p>

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. He and Ciel had conducted their own investigations and had found very little. Or at least, Ciel had found very little. Sebastian could detect the trace energies of a demon and a Grim Reaper, though the reason for them working together given the usual animosity between both mystified him.

Of course, Grey was quite an interesting specimen too. The unusual abilities he had displayed the previous night. The fact that he had a very rich soul that Sebastian would, under different circumstances, be quite eager to consume.

Grey didn't seem to be an ordinary human. But he wasn't anything from Above, Between, or Below. He could tell that Grey was ordinary, and yet he had such unusual abilities. One to keep an eye on.

"What did you find?" Sebastian asked.

Grey grinned to himself, a sure sign that he knew more than he was letting on. "Not very much. But enough." Grey stood up, tipping his hat to him. "I'm afraid that I must scout out the next location."

* * *

><p>Demons, Harry reflected, were very difficult creatures to track down. The best of them could hide themselves as completely ordinary humans, fingerprints, hair, mannerisms, and speech - an incredible likeness. Even magic couldn't penetrate the disguise. It might've back in the Wizarding World, but here, where magic didn't technically exist and his powers were weakened, nothing.<p>

They also had numerous supernatural abilities, whether disguised as a human or in their actual form. Strength, speed, bodily manipulation... Harry didn't know all the powers demons had. He could only hope that his magic - despite weakening here, still very strong - could protect him.

Demons minds could not be breached by Legilimency. There were tales that one wizard had succeeded, back in the WW, but that he had promptly gone on an insane, suicidal and homicidal range, killing fifteen and himself. But that did not necessarily indicate a demon - wizards could do the same, though without the nasty side effects of success, and even Muggles had built up mental shields similar to Occlumency that were strong enough to resist a sustained mental attack.

Red eyes were a distinguishing feature in many cases, but many Muggles and wizards had them as a result of a birth defect. Other wizards might change the color of their eyes to red, Muggles would wear contacts (which didn't really apply in the late 19th century) and wizards could also get red eyes by creating more than one Horcrux. So that wasn't a reliable sign.

Demonic fingerprints, of course, were highly unique, and like a wizard's magic, left a trace of its energy behind. Demonic fingerprints had a unique look, but that could be disguised as well. The most skilled could even stop the demonic energy traces from happening. So fingerprints were not entirely reliable either.

All in all, unless you had foreknowledge or some way of making the demon reveal itself as a demon, you could not tell if it was a demon. It wasn't a "maybe you couldn't tell" or a "probably you couldn't tell" it was, quite simply, impossible to tell. You could be sitting across one, sipping tea and making conversation, and never know.

Harry shook his head, stricken by the sudden need to talk to the ill heiress.

He climbed up the stairs, heading to the ill heiress' room. He knocked on the door. "Come in." A faint voice called. Harry opened the door slowly - the heiress was laying in her bed, awake for the time being. "My lady." Harry bowed, doffing his hat to her. The symptoms, as Harry had heard, were general weakness and frequent sleep periods. Harry didn't know enough medical knowledge to diagnose it, no matter what century he was in.

She smiled. "Please, call me Sheilah."

"Sheilah, then." Harry closed the door, sitting on the chair next to her bed. "What I've heard of your illness is true, then."

Sheilah nodded. "The doctors are mystified. No one seems able to help."

"I might be able to." Harry said quietly. "But I need you to tell me everything about your illness."

She looked up at the ceiling. "They tried to use it all at once. All the energy. I resisted, so here I lay."

Harry frowned. They - ? Oh, he had an idea. Clever. The demons used a specific type of ritual, using her soul's energy to allow themselves to traverse freely across Earth and the Lower Realm where demons resided. They tried to use it all at once, probably a method of making sure they could do from then and forever more, but she resisted.

It wasn't a very high demon. A lower one acting above its ability, perhaps. This type of ritual was very clever, very nasty, and so very, deeply, wrong.

Harry nodded. "I understand."

"I don't."

"It's alright to not know. You've been most helpful, Lady Sheilah." Harry stood up.

"Good." Sheilah said, falling back asleep. Conservation of energy, Harry reminded himself, leaving the room.

He headed towards his room, a slight grin on his face. That was important information to learn, even as his grin dropped due to Sheilah's illness. That would soon be resolved, Harry thought.

He wouldn't need to look at any of the other victims after all, Harry realized. He didn't particularly want to, either.

He imagined that Sheilah's resistance most likely annoyed the demon, especially since she had held out for so many months. A very strong will. The demon was likely to become gradually more and more irritated, and then try eating her soul... tonight, Harry realized.

* * *

><p>Night. A demon and a grim reaper appeared in the backyard of the Faljoys. The enchanted pebble Harry had laid there immediately broadcast a signal which reached Harry in seconds.<p>

His umbrella started vibrating, a green light blinking on the handle.

Harry's eyes flipped open and his umbrella immediately stopped. He got up, flicking his wrist. An Inverness coat immediately dressed around him, his hat flew off the hatstand straight onto his head, and socks immediately leaped onto his feet.

The door opened itself for him and Harry stepped out, door closing behind him, a small grin on his face. This would be interesting.

Harry walked down the stairs, staring. "My suspicions were indeed correct." Harry called - two people were indeed standing there in the darkness. He lifted his umbrella up. "Lumos." The ferrule of the umbrella lit up, unveiling them both. "A Grim Reaper and a demon, indeed."

"How-?" The Grim Reaper asked, shocked. Harry grinned. "Skills, my friend. I'm afraid that, from a temporal standpoint, I am ahead of you. Sometimes behind you, but mostly ahead."

"I... see." The Reaper said.

"I'm sure you don't but it's nice of you to try." Harry said. "Might I suggest you go straight back to the Between? Your superiors would like to have a word with you, I'm sure - yes, I know about that, shocking, isn't it?"

Harry's grin dropped. "_Back to the Between for you, Reaper._" Harry hissed, pointing the umbrella straight at the Grim Reaper. It glared at him but faded out, anyway.

That was one taken care of, this left the demon. "I might wonder why a demon is working with a Reaper given the traditional animosities."

The demon glared at him. "I'm afraid you have the advantage of me."

"Damn right." Harry agreed, rib of the umbrella fading, Harry's grip moving towards the middle of the umbrella. "I should introduce myself. Harry Grey."

"Luccan Myralic." The demon responded, sneering. "But a human? You think you can face me, a demon from the pits of Hell?"

"Given all I've experienced, I could be very well asking a similar question of you." Harry said affably. "So. If you would care to explain, since I'm doomed to die anyway."

"A mutually beneficial relationship." Luccan said. "The Reaper gets the cinematic records it wants, I get the soul just before they end." Luccan licked its lips. "I can see your soul, Grey, and it is rich."

"Please stop, that's mortifying." Harry muttered.

"And to get here-"

"-you used the Lady Sheilah Faljoy as the root of your ritual. And as I suspected, you've grown irritated with the continued resistance, and come on the very night I predicted you would." Harry finished for it. "You should be in Hell administering the punishments of the damned. You're too low a demon to come to Earth. That's why you had to use a ritual."

Luccan snarled. "I am as high a demon as any!"

"Weak point, hmm?" Harry grinned. "Oh, you're not that bright, are you? I can figure you out easily, yet you know just about nothing about me. It's the great journey of life, Luccan, and you're not anywhere on the ladder."

Luccan sped toward him. Harry tilted his head slightly and apparated to just four feet away. "Neat trick." Luccan said angrily. "Face me honorably."

"That's hardly fair. You won't fight honorably. You'll use every trick and tool you have at your disposal." Harry replied as Luccan lunged for him. Harry lifted his umbrella as an arm raced towards him, ducking under the other one.

Harry shoved Luccan back with the umbrella.

"Impressive." Luccan muttered.

Harry nodded. "Oh yes. You haven't seen half of what I can do. And you won't get to, either." Harry looked around. "This really isn't the place. It'll attract too much attention." Luccan seemed to agree.

"There is a field not five miles from here." Harry said, gesturing to his right. "Perhaps there?"

Luccan nodded his agreement and Harry apparated away.

He waited there for maybe twenty seconds before the demon appeared in front of him. "The usual speed." Harry muttered, though he knew that higher demons could go faster.

"Shall we begin, then?" Luccan asked sneeringly.

Harry nodded. "Yes." Harry pointed the umbrella straight at Luccan. "Stupefy." He muttered, and the spell sped towards Luccan faster than he could dodge, knocking him back. "Incarcerous." Ropes sped out of the the wand, wrapping themselves around the demon.

Luccan glared at him hatefully. "You're strong, Grey, but I am better, and I will have your soul."

"You're pathetic." Harry responded, umbrella trained on him, nerves ready. "Go back to Hell."

"You think I'm done yet?" Luccan asked spitefully, the ropes sliding off, standing back up. Luccan lifted a single finger, on fire. He held it to his face and blew. Out came roaring, raging flames, growing in size.

Harry's eyes widened. Pyrokinesis! How do they get pyrokinesis where he gets an umbrella?!

"Think fast." Luccan said with a wicked grin, sending the flames for Harry.

Harry lifted his umbrella, flicking it around in looping motions. The flames sped for him, but they were caught by Harry's control, forming a ring of fire around him. "Ignito recedum!" Harry growled, and the fire went right into the tip of his umbrella with incredible speed, receding away. But as it was not naturally created fire, the energy was still there.

"Ignito impetuex!" Harry called next, and the fire burst out of his umbrella in a huge beam, speeding towards the demon.

Luccan, however, lifted a finger and the fire faded away just before it reached him, leaving the field cloaked in darkness. "So you require a mangled form of Latin to use your... abilities."

"One method of control among many." Harry responded. Luccan might be able to manipulate ordinary fire... but he could control Fiendfyre. It was a risky move, and Harry would rather not lose control of it, because that left the possibility of a painful death for him. He lifted his umbrella higher, focusing. "Ignifyende."

Out came the roaring, colossal and angry animals. Harry flicked his umbrella, cutting off the jet of fire, and collapsing it all into the shape of a basilisk. It was truly enormous, towering five feet higher than Harry. He flicked his umbrella again and the Fiendfyre sped towards the demon, glaring and raging.

Luccan was caught straight in its tracks, motionless with shock. The black figure disappeared, and the semi-sentient fire, left with a desire to incinerate, turned to Harry.

Harry took a deep breath, pointing his umbrella straight at it. "Ignifyend recedum perpetuines plunesit!" Harry shouted, and the fire dispersed, glaring at Harry.

He let out the breath. It did indeed disperse. He walked towards where Luccan had been standing. There was just a pile of ashes. A higher demon might have been able to reconstitute itself, but a lower one faced with fiendfyre, there was no hope of it. Harry bet that the demon wasn't alive anymore.

Harry flicked his wrist and a hole appeared in the ground. He levitated the ashes into it and then closed the hole again.

Harry let out a long sigh. That was one case, finished. He looked around. Grass was burnt wherever fire and fiendyre had touched it. Harry sighed again. Well, it didn't matter. People had a tendency for ignoring the suspicious and creating their own explanations.

He placed the umbrella on a loop of his coat. That was that finished.

He apparated back to the Faljoy Manor.

* * *

><p>Here is the next chapter for you. Obviously I must be doing something right to have 12 reviews when I've done only 2 chapters. I hope this lives up to your expectations. Additionally, this chapter has been revised as a very smart reviewer pointed out some glaring errors in historical accuracy and so I have done my best to fix them.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

When Harry awoke, he was quite happy to leave. In fact, he was more than ready, now that the case had been resolved there was no purpose for him to stay.

He explained what had happened, making some creative alterations to match their perception of the world, told them that Sheilah would most likely need some more time to recuperate but that whatever was making her ill was gone. Not that he knew how or what, of course.

In fact, he was extremely pleased to leave because he was getting an eye from the Phantomhive boy. It was not exactly a friendly one either. He was very unhappy that Harry had solved the case before him, and kept glaring. It irritated Harry to no end.

The fact that they were trying to buy Greymort and Harry's continual rebuttal did not endear him to boy either. And Harry was not particularly trying to endear himself to Phantomhive, which annoyed the arrogant Earl.

So, yes, it was good to get away back to his Manor and try to find a new case. Him, Greene, and Eryx departed that morning, not even bothering to dine with them for breakfast. Somehow he got the impression that he would most likely be encountering them again soon.

The fact that he most likely did a great insult to the Faljoys by so rudely departing with only a tattered excuse did not bother him in the slightest. He still sometimes had difficulties with Victorian customs, but he was fairly sure that the Faljoys weren't important enough to cause him any real damage.

And of course he had not forgotten about the enchanted pebbles. No, with a touch of magic, he had them pulverized where they were.

The manor came into view, and Harry could see smoke rising. There was any number of reasons there might be smoke rising - Leif may have guessed he was returning and decided to prepare a meal. Leif did have a knack for timing. It couldn't have been due to temperature - it was June.

They were all perfectly reasonable explanations.

Harry was interested in their perfectly reasonable explanation for a broken window and the missing door.

* * *

><p>Harry got out of the coach, looking at the Manor. Broken windows. Bullet holes. Smoke rising. Even some blood. Harry narrowed his eyes as he walked up the steps. He was not happy about this. He was not happy at all. This angered him. His retainers had been trained rigorously and they were competent. Harry had made sure of that. He would have fired them otherwise.<p>

So, that left the question of exactly how it happened. "_**IF YOU DO NOT HAVE A GOOD EXPLANATION FOR HOW THIS HAPPENED, YOU ARE ALL FIR****ED!****!**_" Harry shouted at the top of his lungs. It was not often that Harry became angry, but when he got angry - very, very angry - he was prone to extremely loud shouting, known for causing earaches. Harry entered the house, glaring at whatever he set his eyes upon.

With a truly admirable speed, Emory, Leif, and Fallie lined up right in front of him. "What happened?" Harry asked, deathly quiet.

They looked between each other and Leif was put in front to explain. "Last night while we were sleeping a gang of people attacked. The last remnants of those French you busted a few months ago. They were heavily armed and came from all sides, and as you can see, they caused a lot of damage. In the confusion, several windows were broken, a fire started in your room, a number of bullet holes, and general destruction in the abstract sense." Leif took a breath. "We've since been working non-stop trying to repair the damage and replace everything that was broken."

Harry took a deep breath and sighed, calming down quickly. So that was why. Not the retainer's fault - they had done the best they could given the situation, and hadn't run. And once the chaos had ended, they had been working to clean it, through the night and into the morning.

That was loyalty that could be commended, and Harry admired it. "I apologize for my angry words. You have done excellently given the situation." Harry thought briefly for a moment. "Actually, take a day off. Return before night."

Emory and Fallie were left flabbergasted. "But - where?"

"I don't know." Harry said, mildly irritated again. "Just somewhere. Anywhere. Just - go away." Harry waved his hand at them. "Same with you, Greene."

"As you wish." Greene responded. The four of them piled into a coach and left. Harry sighed, turning back to the house. "And a French gang, too." Harry pondered.

"Reparo." Harry muttered, making a wide gesture to the entirety of the Entrance Hall. Shards of glass picked themselves up, going back into the frame and melding with what glass was left. The door hovered off the ground and re-attached to the hinges. The bullet holes disappeared as the floor fixed itself.

And like that, Harry went through the entire house. All that couldn't be fixed was the stuff that had been burned, which not even magic could fix. It'd have to be replaced.

For the time being, Harry would have to sleep in one of the guest rooms, although they were only somewhat less luxuriously appointed then Harry's own.

Come night, his retainers returned. Emory and Fallie were deeply impressed, Leif wondered exactly how Harry did it, and Greene just ignored it. Harry didn't say how he did it, naturally.

* * *

><p>The next day was immediately forgettable as Harry had an empty schedule and no cases. However, this changed the day after.<p>

"A new case for you." Greene said as Harry ate breakfast, handing him a letter. "From the Fort Tamsworth. It seems that there's been an unusual series of murders in the neighboring town of Halforth."

Harry wiped his hands on a nearby towel, finished. He picked up the letter and opened it, reading.

_Dear Mr. Grey,_

_I have heard of your skills at detection. I ask that you come to Fort Tamsworth at the soonest opportunity. There has been a series of murders in Halforth, the nearest town, and everyone we have here is stumped. _

_As such, I turn to you. I am able to offer payment. Please use this letter as authentication to enter the fort. I will be away until June the 6th. A Professor Holger will be there to help you._

_Albert Vernon,  
>Commander at Fort Tamsworth<em>

Harry raised his eyebrows. "A series of murders. I just investigated one of those. And before that another one. I seem to be getting a rather lot of those cases."

"Indeed." Greene said.

Harry folded the letter and pocketed it, grabbing his umbrella and putting on a hat. "I shall leave instantly." Harry doffed his hat once before apparating away.

"As you say." Greene muttered, picking up the dishes to take them down to the kitchens.

* * *

><p>Harry's guess of Fort Tamsworth's location was very good. And the reason for that is because he had been to Halford before, and thus already knew where it was. He landed in a field near it. He soon found a road to the fort and headed down it, letter in pocket.<p>

The weather was cloudy, but pleasant, relatively speaking. He wondered where the soldiers were, surely someone should be guarding the place?

His question was answered when a group of soldiers cornered him in a circle. "Name, identity, and intention."

"Finally." Harry said, looking at them, grinning. He could bluff his way out of any situation. "You certainly took your time. What if an enemy were to sneak in?" Harry nudged one of the soldier's feet with his umbrella. "Poor posture, too."

"Sorry...?" One of the soldiers said, confused.

Harry huffed. "Well, never mind. You're soldiers. Good of you to notice. I have some people to speak with." With a doff of his hat, Harry neatly stepped through and entered the building, leaving a rather confused group of soldiers behind.

"Good morning, sir." Harry said to the man guarding the door, walking like he owned the place. Soon enough he found a door labelled Professor Holger and Harry entered. "Ah, Professor Holger, so good to meet you. Harry Grey, detective, a pleasure I'm sure."

"What are you doing here?" The Professor glared at him.

"I am a detective. I detect." Harry stated. "I am here, as a detective, to detect the defect that's causing all these murders."

"This is intolerable!" The Professor shouted.

"Racism, sexism, and ageism is intolerable. This is a mere annoyance in frustration." Harry said. "Now, it really is a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for my abrupt arrival, but I received Commander Vernon's letter only earlier today. I came as quickly as possible. Now, do you have list of population, past history, and families of persons for Halforth?" Harry asked.

"Eh - possibly?" The Professor guessed.

Harry scowled. "No matter. List of murders?"

"Kwyne!" The Professor shouted at the top of his lungs. A nurse burst into the room. "Yes, Professor?"

"List of murders for this young gentleman." The Professor gestured to Harry.

Kwyne nodded, opening a drawer at the Professor's desk and handing a list to Harry. Harry surveyed it: there had been 12 murders, one every two days. The last was yesterday, and the next, as such, was tomorrow. "Thank you." Harry said, folding it up and pocketing it.

Just then the door opened. "This man is unauthorized." A guard said, pointing at Harry.

Harry raised an eyebrow. The soldier thought he was an adult. Well, no need to disavow him of that particular notion. Harry pulled out the letter. "As it happens, you will find that I am authorized by Commander Vernon himself. He said that this letter would serve as adequate authentication." Harry handed the letter to him.

The soldier read it over rather quickly before handing it back to Harry. "My apologies, we weren't informed of your arrival."

"No matter. Don't trouble yourself over it. If you could lead me to my rooms?" Harry asked.

The soldier nodded and gestured for him to follow.

* * *

><p>So. 12 murders, no one had been able to find out the cause of it. That was curious. Harry wondered how that nice hatmaker he'd met was doing, he might have to go into town at some point. Harry frowned, looking over the list.<p>

There was nothing that linked the people murdered beyond the fact that they were human. Nothing at all. It was intriguing. He would have to talk to the families of those who'd been murdered in hopes of finding clues.

* * *

><p><strong>AND THAT, <strong>ladies and gentlemen, is, as they say, that. I'm incredibly shocked and deeply thankful - 38 reviews for a fandom with less than 200 stories! Three chapters! A story that I don't really have a plot for (but I'm developing one. Which I think you'll like.) has gotten so very... popular! Thank you all very much for reviewing. And sorry that this chapter was short, but we have to have at least one solo-Harry adventure.


	5. Chapter 5

Talking to the families revealed nothing. And as far as Harry could see, there were no fingerprints. Many drops of blood spattered here and there (for those whom had not yet cleaned the place) but no fingerprints. With that in mind, he visited the local undertaker, a James Natale. That revealed something interesting - from each victim, a pint of blood was missing.

A pint of blood missing from each victim. Harry frowned, contemplating. What could a person want with one pint of blood from victims? And surely the timing of the murders was not coincidental. And that was the mystery: why, rather than how.

With that in mind, Harry wracked his memory of whatever information he could. It couldn't be magic - that was a reality-altering ability, that, in this universe, only he had, and even then it wouldn't last forever, as he would die eventually. That left rituals out.

Or perhaps he was just digging far too deep into this. It could just be a psychopath with a predilection for blood and two-day gaps in murder. He knew no one in the base had done it, and just observing people going about their life, he knew they didn't do it.

That left people that didn't venture into the open so often. In other words, higher-ups. The government. The local government of Halforth. He had one candidate in mind: the mayor.

Mayors, at least in this time, didn't have too many functions. But he supposed that could very from local government to local government, after all, some local places had their own way of doing things and it'd be too much trouble to try and regulate them. He was briefly reminded of the Ministry trying to regulate Hogwarts, because_ that_ had gone so well.

He shook his head. He was getting distracted. This was a relatively generic case, there was no reason to try and think deeper into it. Find the murderer, bring murderer to justice.

* * *

><p>He entered the office of the mayor of Halforth, Wilfred Cuulan. "Mayor Cuulan. An honor." Harry said, shaking the man's hand and taking note of everything. The clothes looked to be fresh, the grip was firm if slightly shaky, and the man overall looked tired, as though he'd not been getting enough sleep. His hair was rather disheveled and the office wasn't very neat, either.<p>

"I'm sorry abou' the clutter." Wilfred gestured to the messy room. "I've been busy."

"Indeed?" Harry asked without any curiosity. "The murders, I'd imagine."

Wilfred nodded, skin going pale. "You're Harry Grey then?"

"Yes. You didn't know?"

"I - I'm sorry, it must've slipped my mind. You're very young for a detective." Wilfred observed, shaking his head a little and sitting down, Harry sitting across from him on the other side of the desk.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose."

Wilfred rang for some tea and Harry decided that was a good place to start. "I am indeed here about the murders. I do wonder rather your local chaps discovered anything I haven't."

"I'm afraid that it's very unlikely, Mr. Grey." Wilfred said as the tea arrived. Harry took a cup and sipped. "Earl Black?" Harry guessed.

"Earl Grey." Wilfred replied. Harry scowled. He just couldn't guess a tea name correctly.

There was nothing in the room that would hint at the man being the murderer. No small, out of place blood spots. If he was the murderer, then he was good at hiding it.

Or, Harry reflected, he had basic common sense, of which many notable murderers lacked. "I will cut to the chase, Mayor. I am trying to find the murderer, the attacks are happening on a set schedule, and I am frankly suspicious about very nearly anyone and everyone, and that unfortunately includes you." Wilfred nearly dropped his teacup.

"I assure you, Mr. Gray, I had nothing to do with it. One of the murdered men was a cousin of mine, and like a brother to me." Wilfred replied.

Harry aimed a passive scan of his surface thoughts. Wilfred was indeed telling the truth. "Then I am deeply sorry for interrupting your day, Mayor Cuulan."

"No, I understand." The Mayor sighed. "It... well, I suppose I won't see you again but once. It was... nice speaking with you."

"The courtesy is appreciated but unnecessary." Harry tipped his hat to the man, leaving with a mild frown on his face.

So, not the Mayor. And as far as he could tell, no one else within in the government

He could not find suspects that way and he probably wouldn't find any proper suspects through that method. As such, he would turn back to the murders. He knew the temporal pattern - every two days - which meant that with any luck he would be able to find a spatial pattern, and predict the location of the next murder.

And that meant he'd need a map of Halforth.

* * *

><p>He looked closely at the map, marking dots where the murders happened and connecting them. The first six connected to create a rough circle. The next three connected with two dots of the circle to create an upside-down triangle, which made Harry remarkably suspicious. The other murders were leading towards a second triangle, the right side up.<p>

Harry recognized it. It was a simple Hex-Point Star ritual array that could be used with a number of rituals where he came from. Even in the Muggle world was it familiar in various legends, and without the circle, a religious symbol.

He had seen it a few times in this world. Various lunatics trying their hand at magic, a few murderers used that symbol as well as a dot connection - almost always to their downfall. The missing pint of blood from each victim Harry hadn't seen before. That was interesting - perhaps a mixture of killing spree and ritual.

Which begged the question: ritual for what?

Harry, in his search for answers, apparated to the dungeons below the Grey Manor. No one except Harry knew of their existence - there were rumors, of course, both among his retainers and of others who knew of the history of Grey Manor (it wasn't entirely a pleasant history) but only Harry knew definitely that they were there.

This was where he kept many of the other things that he had brought along. A contingency amount of money, both a little from when he'd first came and some of the earnings from Graymort, just in case his business was to fail or he was to become a criminal.

A bed, a kitchen, a bathroom, and everything he might need to survive if he was going to go into hiding at some point. Wardstones, set in three rooms in a special floor below the third, to tie his magic and enchantments into a whole, keeping it protected against intruders or destruction. Admittedly he couldn't vouch for how well they'd work, as he'd had to work around the house and most of what was already built in the basement, but he thought they'd do fine.

In another, smaller room, he kept a variety of potions and ingredients. Felix felicis, Veritaserum, Essence of Dittany, and several others, as well as the ingredients to make them, charmed to last a long time. Cauldrons, to make them. An assortment of knives and spoons, as well, in various metals and sizes.

On the third and final floor (he didn't count the wardstone floor as a proper floor of the basement) was his library where he kept rare books and tomes, some that were outlawed, out-of-print, or the only of its kind. His books on magic among them.

All of this was simultaneously his greatest secret, greatest strength, and if someone were to somehow happen upon it, his greatest weakness.

But Harry was sure that no one would manage to get through the wards. However, just in case, he had laid an enchantment under the wards, keyed to the wardstones. If the wards were to break, the enchantment would activate, teleporting everything inside to a hollowed-out space he'd made in Aonach Mor, in Scotland.

It was one of a few contingency plans Harry had crafted for a number of situations.

His current destination was one particular shelf of his library that held all the books he had on dark magic. From the hollowed pages of _The Black Book_ to one of only five known English editions of _Poveljujoci Odtenek_ to even the _Die Beseitigung jeder sonst_. He climbed the ladder and pulled out _Membentuk Bayang-Bayang Anda_. He flipped through a few pages before putting it back.

He went one lower and pulled out _Guido del Mago Oscuro a Morte_ before immediately placing it back on the shelf. Now he remembered what book he needed. He pulled out _Shadowed Magick_ and began paging through it.

Page 124. A Hex-Point Star Array, used for any great variety of things due to its all-purpose nature. By far the darkest use was to summon a creature from Hell. With alternative subtleties, it could summon a creature from Heaven. Harry frowned at that. Whoever was murdering didn't have the knowledge to put in such small-scale circles and diamonds as was needed. No, the murderer was sticking with a basic six-pointed star and circle.

The question was - Heaven or Hell. Harry couldn't tell, he'd guess Hell himself, but you never knew when it came to a serial killer.

That was his suspicions confirmed. He put the book back, climbed down, and checked his pocket watch. It was getting late. He apparated back to Halforth.

The most recent murder was the day before. The next was tomorrow. It was with that that Harry realized he had made a comical mistake: he thought there was one every two days. In actuality it was every other day, with a one day gap. How had he gotten that mixed up?

Then again, Harry was still trying - and failing - to forget the time he thought it was Wednesday every day for nearly two weeks in a row. That had been embarrassing. Especially when it happened again six months later, except for a week and a half. There was a sudden pang, he did miss his friends.

He shook his head, shoving the feeling away without an ounce of courtesy. He had a job to do. He was a Victorian-era detective. And tomorrow he had a murderer to confront.

* * *

><p>He had tracked the spatial pattern and had everyone within a good half-kilometer of the place he'd tracked vacated just before night fell, as to try and not alert the murderer. Harry himself stood on one of the taller rooftops of the houses. From one angle he was silhouetted by the moon. It would make quite the dramatic scene in the movies, Harry would wager, had movies existed in 1888.<p>

Alas, 1888 had a distinctive lack of movies, and as such if his silhouetting against the moon were to be remarked upon, it would be either through spoken word or written text. As there were no chroniclers of books he knew of, this silhouetting against the moon would go unremarked upon.

Harry shook his head. He was thinking too deep into silhouettes. He might break something. A wall, for example. He had broken the fourth wall of his house once during a very long contemplation on the philosophy of cubes. Metaphysics, when a wizard thought about them, were not to be trifled with.

He looked around, trying to spot the killer. The streets were remarkably empty until - aha. There he was. Down on the ground. A quick passive Legilimency scan revealed his name: Ebenezer Colloway. The reason that a passive Legilimency scan revealed his name was because Colloway, at least mentally in his thoughts, was incredibly arrogant.

Harry climbed down carefully from the rooftop. He was not going to jump down, that would be foolish. Thankfully he had a ladder in place. He pulled out his umbrella, readying it in case it was necessary.

"Colloway." Harry called, striding forward with confidence. Ebenezer whipped around rapidly, a gun in his hand. "I was told that you would get here and find me eventually." The murderer sneered.

"My reputation precedes me." Harry muttered dryly. "Forgive me for using what will, or might already be, a tired cliche, but there are two ways to do this: there is the rather extraordinarily easy way inwhich you turn yourself in and don't potentially get killed or severely injured by me as part of self-defense, and then there is the much more difficult way inwhich you don't turn yourself in and still go to jail or to the afterlife, most likely with severe injuries due to self-defense."

"Could you put that rather plainer?" Ebenezer asked blankly. Harry revised his impressions of the man: moderately intelligent, extremely arrogant, but not one for lexical capacity.

"Either you turn yourself in or I implement force." Harry said flatly, pointing his umbrella at Colloway.

Ebenezer raised an eyebrow. "With an umbrella?"

"It is more than a mere umbrella." Harry stated with an aggressive note in his voice.

"And you are just a teenager armed with an umbrella."

"I have solved every case I have taken on, you might note."

"Duly. You overestimate yourself, boy." Ebenezer remarked.

Harry snorted. "And you overestimate yourself so much that it's almost comical. So, what'll it be. Turn yourself in or shall I implement gratuitous force?"

"I admit I am interested to see what force you could possibly implement."

"I am having a conversation with a murderer." Harry muttered to himself briefly. "I can understand a demon, but this?" He shook his head and flicked his umbrella at Ebenezer. "_Incarcerous_." He muttered. Ropes flew out of his wand and wrapped themselves around Colloway. Harry strode forward and plucked the gun out of his hands. "I might've been expecting more of a fight." Ebenezer sneered. "When the mood strikes me, I specialize in the anti-climax." Harry said with a grin. "Unfortunately, you've seen too much."

Harry placed the tip of umbrella on Ebenezer's forehead. "_Obliviate_. _Obinubellio_." He precisely cut out the memory and replaced it with one inwhich there was a brief struggle, Harry attained a bruise on his upper arm (neatly disguised by his clothes, thus no reason for creating an illusion of it) and disarmed him, and the last thing he knew was an umbrella making contact with the back of his head.

And with that, the case was finished. Upon the Commander's return, Harry worked out an agreeable payment and then headed back to the Grey Manor late that night after a pleasant discussion with one of the local hatmakers. He was happy to see that his room had been kept organized and dusted - but then, Greene and the rest of his retainers were the best of the best.

* * *

><p>I just had to give you an anti-climax. Because I'm pure darkness and evil, that's why. I am almost a demon. Plus, I'm one hell of a writer. Climax would mean fighting, which is like a miniature war. Thus, peace in our time. If Harry was to fight, he would fight on the beaches. Dedicating all his blood, toil, sweat, and tears to it. It'd be a day to live in infamy. Or perhaps he'll just let them eat cake. (that was me trying to figure out how many historical jokes I could fit in while still making vague sense.)<p> 


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